


head in the clouds but my gravity's centered

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholism, Angst, M/M, Recovering Alcoholic, Recovery, mostly style tbh creek and bunny is a side pairing, style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:07:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stan is an alcoholic, and it’s just as hard on Kyle as it is on Stan. He just wants to help.





	1. 'cause it's too cold for you here

**Author's Note:**

> trigger!! warning!!  
> there is VERY heavy mention of drinking, alcoholism, and mentions of a parent’s death. if any of that triggers you, i have much softer one-shots you can read. this is heavy angst with a happy ending.

Stan remembers the first time he drank alcohol. Everyone around him did, too. It was just at a high school party, and it wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t. All teenagers drink, all his friends were just as trashed as he was. Stan remembers puking in the Donovan’s urn the next morning, and his super best friend at the time Kyle dragging him home. He was only fifteen then, and despite teenagers being capable of having that problem, he didn’t.

The problem didn’t start until his senior year of high school. He became more dependent on it, and no one noticed. They, including his family and friends, brushed it off as a child acting out due to to the stress of college. Kyle, Stan’s loving boyfriend, was the only one worried but never spoke of it. Fortunately for Stan, Kyle was smart enough to get into any college and went to the same school as him. They moved into a small apartment together, their relationship blossoming, and so Kyle was able to see everything. They’ve been in college for three years, nearly done, and no feelings have changed. But, unfortunately, the bottle in Stan’s hand was downed every time he felt a speck of sadness, and he was desperate to feel the buzz.

It was the afternoon, and Kyle was just shoving open the door open. The bedroom, kitchen and living room were all connected, so when he walked in the first thing he saw was Stan passed out cold on their shared bed. Beside the bed was a few empty bottles, that made Kyle frown. He dropped his bag on the ground before kicking off his shoes; making his way towards the bed. He reached out and gently began shaking Stan by the shoulder. “Stan? Stan, wake up,” he whispered.

In response, Stan began waking but curled away from Kyle’s touch while groaning. “No,” he whined. “Not today, mom. I don’t want to go to school.”

“You didn’t go to school,” Kyle stated, almost snappy. He worried for Stan in other ways too, knowing that his boyfriend didn’t attend his morning class. “Why? Are you sick?” Before Stan could respond, he took off his glove and pressed the back of his hand to Stan’s forehead, checking for any hot temperatures radiating off.

Stan groaned again, batting Kyle’s hand away. “Just a headache. Hangover,” he answered, throwing his arm over his face to cover it. “I must have missed my alarm. I’m sorry.” His voice was muffled, and his face was covered to keep him from seeing, but he knew Kyle’s disappointed face was staring right at him.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” Kyle offered, gently patting Stan once more. He went to their medicine cabinet, and returned with two white pills and a bottle of water. Stan didn’t hesitate in taking them both, and Kyle sat on the edge of the bed in silence. He waited until Stan finished before breaking the silence. “Stan, isn’t this the fourth night in a row that you’ve went out to drink?” He asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?” Stan hummed, setting the water down on their nightstand before peeping at Kyle. “Yeah, I think so. Was.. Bored, last night.” It was a lie, and Kyle knew it, but didn’t comment on it.

“Okay,” Kyle replied simply. It was too late for Stan to go to class, so he chose to lay down beside him. On instinct, Stan draped his arm over Kyle and pulled him close. Kyle winced when smelling the alcohol lingering out of Stan’s mouth as he breathed. This was just the beginning. Kyle just wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

-x-

Stan was out with Kenny and Kyle when something strange happened to his body, after not drinking for two days. It was something he hadn’t experienced before, and although it scared him just a bit, he didn’t fight it. The three friends were together, catching up with Kenny who worked so often he didn’t have much time for either boys. They were at Stan and Kyle’s apartment, laughing and having a good time as their fingers mashed controllers hooked up to the game system.

In the middle of an important battle, the controller Stan was holding dropped to the floor when his right hand twitched harshly. Kyle paused the game quickly and whirled his head to Stan in worry. Only for a split second he saw the way Stan’s hands were trembling before Stan was shoving them in his pockets.

“Sorry,” Stan apologized. “Kinda got to into the game.” Both him and Kenny had shrugged off the moment with a laugh, but Kyle stayed silent. “You two can play without me.”

It was only a few minutes later that the trembling became too much for Stan to handle. He knew what his body needed, what drink needed to be downed his throat until the twitching and shaking would just stop. “I’m going to get a drink,” he announced to the two, standing from the bean bag he had been sitting on. “Do you two want anything?” He asked, hoping it would seem less suspicious.

Kenny accepted, but Kyle shook his head. He tried to focus on the screen in front of him, and suddenly wished that there was a wall between him and Stan so he could talk to Kenny in private. He was growing worried that Stan had a problem, a real problem, that needed to be fixed before it got worse. However, he shoved those feelings deep down and tried to assure himself that if Stan was scared then he’d expose that part of himself to his boyfriend. They’ve always been honest with one another, and if Stan believed that he was okay than Kyle believed him.

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter what Stan believed in. Because he did have an alcohol problem.

The night that Kyle questioned it more was days after. Stan had failed an important test, and the professor was refusing to let him retake it or do any extra credit to bring his grade up. Kyle had felt bad, and offered to have a night to themselves - put on some Netflix, pajamas, stuff their face with snacks, and relax to get the weight off.

Stan had agreed to Kyle’s suggestion. He thought it would be better than throwing pillows and being upset over a bad mark, so he offered to run down to the small corner store down the street. Kyle watched, silent, as Stan laced up his boots and grabbed his jacket. “Wait!” He suddenly called out, making the other stop short and look at him in questioning. “Just, uh, the snacks, dude. Please.”

Kyle didn’t need to push the comment further. Stan understood, and it upset him. He suddenly had felt defensive, and almost hurt. “What, I can’t pick up a few bottles?” He asked, his hand on the doorknob, ready to pull it open and run. He could sense an argument coming, and those were never good. They argued just about as much as normal couples do, if not less. “We’re out,” he added. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

Gesturing towards the fridge, Kyle raised his eyebrows at Stan. “We’re out,” he repeated. “Because you drank it all.” It was true. They barely had a restock of two six packs for three days before it was gone. “I just don’t see why you need to drink tonight, dude,” he spoke honestly. “I just want to have a quiet night.”

“It will be!” Stan argued, growing more defensive. “Sometimes when people are upset, they just need a drink. What’s the big deal?” He demanded to know. “You drink sometimes too!”

“I drink maybe twice a month, if that,” Kyle retorted. The conversation was going more heated and both of them were growing more stubborn. “I just don’t think you should be drinking every day dude, it could be a problem, maybe we should talk about it - “

Stan cut Kyle off quickly. He was already speaking the words that Stan had been dreading to hear since they rented the apartment together, and Kyle saw more of his drinking routine. “Problem?!” He repeated, but louder. “It’s not a problem! I just need a little bit of relief sometime!”

The outburst put a silence between them before Stan spoke again, breaking it, with a heavy sigh. “It’s not a problem,” he said again, and tried to assure Kyle, being more gentle with his words this time. “I know it’s cheesy, but I really can stop any time I want. I just need some tonight, then I won’t for awhile,” he vowed.

Kyle didn’t reply for a second. He crossed his arms over his chest, upset. “Please don’t tonight,” he finally said, more firm.

This time, Stan didn’t answer. He walked out of the apartment, slamming the door shut loudly behind him. The sound echoed and made Kyle flinch. He wanted nothing more than to run after him, hug him, and give him the help he knew Stan needed.

Later that night, Kyle was awoken by a loud sound. After Stan left, Kyle had flipped on the TV before eventually falling asleep. His body was jolted upwards, and his eyes flickered the dark room before landing on the dark figure. He was ready to grab the wooden baseball bat that he kept hidden under the bed, until he recognized the figure to be his boyfriend.

“Stan?” Kyle whispered. He pushed off the blankets, making his way to the other. He flicked on the light, and could suddenly see what the crash was. On the floor, in front of Stan, was a pile of shattered glass. Stan looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed red, and looking pale. Kyle carefully walked around the glass shards, to get to Stan, before reaching his hands up and touching his face. He felt oddly warm, but it could be considered normal. “Are you alright?”

“Kyle,” Stan spoke, his eyes glazed as he stared at the other. “I love you.” Kyle watched as Stan reached up to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly against his face. “I love you so, so much.”

Kyle smiled sadly. “Let’s get you to bed.” He helped strip Stan out of his jacket, and led him carefully to the bed. “Sit,” he instructed him. Stan complied, plopping down and almost stumbling backwards. The drunk one watched as Kyle grabbed a hoodie and pajama pants off a chair, possibly dirty, but handed them to Stan by throwing them on the bed. “Here, get dressed.”

“I can’t,” Stan whined. “I’m tired. I - I need to - “ He began choking a bit, and Kyle immediately caught in. He quickly grabbed the small waste basket next to their bed. He held it up, and in a second, Stan’s head was in it and he was making awful noises while gripping the sides. Kyle stood before sitting beside him, stroking Stan’s hair back lovingly as he threw up.

Eventually it finished, and Stan dropped it. He wiped at his mouth with his hand, a line of drool following it. Frowning, Kyle patted him on the shoulder in comfort. “Lay down,” he told Stan. “Go to bed.”

That was easy for Stan to do. He threw himself onto a pillow and shut his eyes, growing limp against the sheets, leaving Kyle to do everything that was left. As best as he could, he pulled Stan’s shirt off him and carefully slid the hoodie on. He moved onto the jeans next, unbuttoning them and sliding them down Stan’s legs before replacing them with the bottoms. He tossed the two articles of clothing on the floor, figuring he’d care for them in the morning.

Kyle had no choice but to pick the bag out of the waste basket, full of Stan’s puke, before trying the bag and tossing it into the real large trash can in the kitchen so the apartment wouldn’t smell. Despite being tired, he grabbed the broom while in the kitchen and sweeped up the glass shards from the bottle Stan had dropped, adding that to the trash as well. Finally, Kyle finished by shutting the light back off and crawling under the covers with Stan.

But not before grabbing his phone and sending a quick text to Kenny.

**To: kenny  
(12:43 am)**  
‘We need to talk tomorrow. It’s about Stan.’


	2. sometimes the silence guides our minds

Sometime next week, Stan was dragging himself to the front door of him and Kyle’s apartment. His bag was heavy on his shoulder after a long day of class, and it took all of his strength to push open the door. In the middle of class, his hands started trembling so bad that he couldn’t jot down notes. Then Stan grew nauseous; yet somehow all the energy was drained from him. He knew Kyle would be disappointed if he left early, so he sucked it up, figuring he could reward himself with a drink when he got home. **  
**

But when Stan opened the door, he froze in shock. On the couch was both Kyle and Kenny, in Kenny’s lap was Butters and on the bean bag chair was Craig, eyes on his phone. He loved Kenny like a brother and Butters was an amazing person; but why the fuck was Craig here? He didn’t like Craig. Kyle didn’t even like Craig. The feeling was most likely mutual. He wouldn’t have invited him without a reason. They all looked as if they had been waiting for Stan to arrive, all on edge, except for Craig who still looked like he didn’t give a shit.

“What the hell is this?”

“Stan, we have to talk,” Kyle stated. He cleared his throat, trying to solid. Stan’s never seen him so serious. “About your drinking.”

Stan remembered before leaving a few days ago, the last time that Kyle asked him not to drink where he had grown defensive and chose to drink anyways. He had gotten so scared that something like this would happen, and his legs were already shaking with nerves. Stan tried to remain calm, and act natural, despite this. “My drinking?” He repeated, acting clueless. “What about it?”

“We’re worried about you,” Kenny cut in. His hand on Butters hip tightened as he spoke, like he was resisting the urge to go into further detail. He knew he had to talk about this calmly and rationally. “Stan, you’re drinking a lot. We need to consider the possibility that.. You’re, uh..” He trailed off, hoping Stan would catch on.

And Stan did catch on. The words Kenny didn’t say were like a punch to the gut. He suddenly felt way over sensitive, and was suddenly the scaredest that he’s ever been. “I - I’m not an alcoholic!” He exclaimed, the word alcoholic feeling vile. “I can handle it!”

“Dude,” Craig finally spoke, his tone dull and nasally as usual. “Even Kenny’s parents didn’t drink that much. Even your - “ He was cut off when Kyle cleared his throat and kicked Craig in the shoulder, making him yelp and turn around. “What?!” He exclaimed, offended. “He didn’t!”

_Even your dad didn’t drink as much._

That’s what Craig was going to say, and Stan knew it. If Stan thought the words from earlier hurt, this was nothing compared to hearing those. His lungs suddenly felt like they collapsed, and his skin was being picked with icicles as a shiver ran up his spine. He dropped his bag to the ground and clenched his fists at his sides, suddenly furious and barricading himself from the truth.

“How dare you!” Stan suddenly shouted, trembling violently. “Don’t bring my father into this - this stupid intervention! I don’t drink like he did! You don’t know what it was like!” And Craig didn’t. Only Kenny understood what Stan’s childhood was like - watching your parent drinking until they forgot their own name, and then cleaning their puke up the next morning, unsure if one day their hourglass of life would be cut short from each bottle they downed. Stan watched Randy every day, demand his mother to use her money to bring him more alcohol, and then drink his life away.

“Stan,” Kyle spoke softly, trying to remain calm and not shout back. He was growing frustrated, harsh words itching at the tip of his tongue, but holding them back. He had looked so hurt, it broke Stan’s heart. “You drink when you’re sad. You drink when you’re stressed. You drink when you’re angry. And if you don’t..” He paused, motioning his hands to Stan. “Your hands start shaking, you get nauseous, and it’s not good. We just want to help.”

“N-No, no,” Stan stammered. He brought his shaking hands up and knotted his raven hair with his fists, trying to wrap his head around the situation. This wasn’t how Kyle wanted this to go, at all, but Stan had a problem. He needed to face it, even if it was hard. All Stan could be thinking off is Randy, who carelessly drank his life away and laughed off any type of help that was given from anyone. The truth was right there, but he couldn’t see it still. He didn’t want to.

Stan’s eyes met Kyles own, and he suddenly had an angry glint. “How could you believe that I would be anything like my father?!” He suddenly shouted, very demanding, and not realizing that it was Craig who said it.

“Please, dude!” Kyle pleaded. He stood up from his place on the couch, standing his ground. “I’m scared for you. I’ll help you, we’ll all help and support you! “ He offered, even motioning to Craig when speaking. “You just have to admit that you have a problem!” Kyle couldn’t help his voice growing, he was just irritated at this point. He finally grew the courage himself to talk to Stan about his problem, and it was all being thrown back in his face.

Flashbacks of everything that Stan went through came all at once. He remembered his mother saying something similiar to his father, the first time she tried to help. “Stop acting like my mother!” He shouted again, dropping his hands, his hair wild, the look he was giving Kyle even wilder. “I - I can’t. I need a drink. Now.”

Pursing his lips, Kyle had enough. He broke too. He couldn’t help but snap back, the words leaving his mouth before he had time to process them. “Like father like son, right?”

Tears welled in Stan’s eyes, and Kyle felt his heart sink when realizing what was said but it was too late to take it back. “Jesus,” he whispered under his breath, his voice cracking, so hurt and feeling sicker than he ever had in his life. “I have to go. Now.” He turned his back, looking away from their eyes. Butters, who hadn’t spoken once and instead kept rubbing his hands together in fear as he hated conflict. Kenny, who grew quiet but still looked worried. Craig, who still looked like he didn’t give a shit but still felt somewhat guilty for what he said. And Kyle, who Stan loved more than anything, and was slowly giving up on him. He couldn’t face it. He needed to drink until he forgets his own name.

_Just like his father._

When Stan’s hand reached the doorknob that oddly felt colder, he heard Kyle speak. His voice was unlike any way that he’s ever spoken before, so full of emotion but clearly serious by the firmness.

“If you leave, don’t expect me to be here when you come back.”

The sound of Kenny gasping Kyle’s in surprise name rang in Stan’s ears as he finally had enough. The ache to drown away the thought of Kyle leaving was too great for him to stay, he had to get out of there and fast. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stepped out, accepting his fate, and slammed the door behind him before storming away. There was only one thing that could help now.

It was a heavy silence full of tension between the four that were left. “Dude,” Craig finally spoke, breaking it. “I’m not even that cold.”

“Shut up, Craig!” Kyle exclaimed, irritated. He could hardly believe Stan left, and if anyone pushed him any farther, especially Craig, he was going to end up strangling them. “What do you know anyways! God, why did I invite you!”

If Kyle wasn’t so angry, he’d have remembered that he invited Craig because he understood being in love with an addict. Craig had been in love with an addicted Tweek, who grew addicted to coffee that his parents laced with meth. Kenny knew Craig held his hand through rehab, and suggested calling him for the intervention. Kyle was regretting it now.

“Kyle,” Kenny spoke before Craig could say something bold. He gently pushed Butters off his lap and stood up. “Stan is an addict, and he needs your help and support. How could you say something like that, dude?” He scolded.

“How hard was it for you to forgive your parents?” Kyle asked, sucking in a deep breath to calm down, his chest heaving. “After you spent years mopping up their puke, all the fighting, tossing empty beer bottles away, losing money because of it, losing your patience too?!” He exclaimed. “How did you forgive them, Kenny?!”

“Because I love them,” Kenny answered simply and honestly. “Just like Stan loved his dad, Craig loves Tweek, and you love Stan. You don’t abandon the person you love because they get difficult, you give them help. You hold their hand while they fix themselves.”

Kenny was right, as always. “God,” Kyle whispered, rubbing his temples. His curly hair fell in his face as he looked down. “I’m so stupid.” He felt awful. The guilt of the harsh words he said had began eating at him, and now he was terrified. “What if something happens to Stan, because I made him leave?!” He asked desperately, green eyes wide with fear.

Kenny held his hand out, trying to keep Kyle calm. “Stan loves you as much as you do him,” he assured the other. “If he does get drunk, I know he’ll come stumbling back to you. We’ll wait until then.”

“We will?” Craig asked bluntly. “Does ‘we’ include me?”

“We includes anyone who cares,” Kenny said, looking over his shoulder to Craig. “You wouldn’t have came if you didn’t care a little bit.”

Although Kenny had a great point, Craig still had remained stubborn by grumbling under his breath words they couldn’t make out and crossing his arms over his chest. Butters cleared his throat, deciding to speak for the first time since the intervention started. “Uh - what do we do now, Fellas?”

They chose to wait. Kenny tried to pass the time by cracking unneeded jokes with toothy grins, while Kyle sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the door. He tried to convince himself that any second Stan would be back, drunk, and crying for his boyfriend.

After a few hours, Kyle couldn’t take anymore. He stood up and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to look for him,” he announced, zipping it and grabbing a flashlight as it was growing dark out.

“You can’t go alone in the dark,” Craig argued. “And especially to a bar.”

“Thanks for the concern, dude, but I can beat any drunkards ass,” Kyle snapped. He grabbed a flashlight and flicked it on to make sure it worked.

“We’ll come too,” Kenny added. He slung his own jacket over his shoulder, Butters doing so too and humming in agreement. It took a second, but eventually Craig huffed out a sigh and stood up as well. “Thatta boy. I knew you cared.”

“Shut up,” Craig retorted, snappy, as he put on his own jacket.

When the small group walked outside, Kyle felt a shiver pass through him when the cold settled in. He grasped the cold metal of the flashlight tightly and held it up, checking both sides of the sidewalk but not seeing anyone. “We should go to the nearest bars,” he suggested, thinking out loud. “He could be there somewhere.”

“Let’s head to the closest bar,” Kenny suggested. Kyle knew it, Stan went to it so often that Kyle caught on to the name. It was a ten minute walk, but they took a left and were walking quickly, so they could get there faster.

Both Craig and Kyle took the lead while Butters and Kenny stayed behind, and Craig grew annoyed with how fast Kyle was walking. He glanced at the other, who was flicking the flashlight both ways as they made their way to the closest bar. “I don’t really care about Stan that much, actually,” he said, way too casually. “Maybe not at all, really. But Tweek made me come when you called,” he explained. “Because I went through what you’re going through now, and he thinks I can help.”

“You’re a real peach then, Tucker,” Kyle mumbled. Even though he was upset, and Craig was really getting on his nerves, there may have been a part of him that appreciated Craig for coming along to help.

It was quiet for the rest of the walk. Kyle felt stick to his stomach, it twisted like a churning pit, and the anxiety only grew when they approached the bar. They didn’t see Stan anywhere on their short walk. “I’ll go inside,” Kenny offered.

While they waited, Butters gently set his hand on Kyle’s shoulder as a sign of comfort. Kyle felt worse, and began blinking away tears when Kenny came back out by himself with a frown. “The bartender said he left to the direction of the corner store when she cut him off,” he explained.

“Jesus, are you kidding me?!” Kyle exclaimed, his temper growing hot as he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “He left, so drunk they had to cut him off, and didn’t help him? Call for a taxi or something?!” He shouted in frustration. If Kyle’s main focus at the moment wasn’t finding Stan, he would have stormed in the bar and dealt with them himself.

“We can just go in the direction they said,” Kenny spoke, raising his hands in defense as to tell Kyle that he needed to calm down. “He has to be somewhere down there.”

They did go in that direction, quiet, for the sake of Kyle who was seconds away from bursting into frustrated and angry tears. He was blaming himself for all this, and they knew it. Kenny had pushed Craig aside and took his place beside Kyle in the lead of the group, before nudging his shoulder. “I’m sorry this is happening,” he said, softly, and it reminded Kyle of when they were kids. Stan was the leader of their little group, but Kenny was the optimist, the one who always looked on the bright side and believed in his best friends, his boys, since elementary school.

“Uh, guys?”

Craig’s voice lingered behind them. Kenny and Kyle turned around to see that Craig and Butters stopped, and were looking into a dark alley. Kyle was the first one to stomp forward, shoving Craig aside and holding the flashlight up. His eyes widened and his heart plummeted into a dark hole in his chest.

On the ground, was Stan. It was hard to make out, but it was him. He was on his side, vomit pouring from the side of his mouth. He was having a hard time breathing, if the blue in his face said anything. Kyle dropped the flashlight, not caring if it broke when it hit the ground. He lunged forward, ready to grab Stan and hold him as tight as he could, but Craig was quicker. He quickly grabbed him from behind as Kenny rushed to him, turning Stan on his back.

“Let me go, you asshole!” Kyle shouted, his voice echoing off the allie’s wall. Craig only responded by holding on tighter when Kyle began thrashing in his grip, shouting Stan’s name. He wasn’t going to let Kyle any closer, in fear something might happen to Stan, and didn’t want him to witness something as horrible as it.

Kenny pressed his fingers to the side of Stan’s neck, checking for a pulse. Butters had already pulled out a phone and was dialing, to what they all assumed was for an ambulance. Kyle watched in horror as Kenny pressed his hands on top of each other before pressing the palm against Stan’s chest and pushing down again and again.

“Oh my god, he’s not breathing,” Kyle sobbed out. He grew limp in Craig’s hold, his legs suddenly feeling like jelly and wobbly before they gave out and his knees scraped against the ground. “P-Please let me go, I have to help him, Jesus..” He cried, begging, but stopped trying to fight his way out of Craig’s grip. His head bowed and he sobbed brokenly with Craig’s arms loosely around him as Kenny gave him CPR.

Suddenly, Stan began coughing and Kenny pulled away. Kyle’s head snapped up when he heard the sound, and Craig finally released him. The second the pressure around him was lifted, he was up and by Stan, kneeling down and putting his head into his lap, his tears slipping down his cheeks and hitting the other’s face.

“I-Is he going to be okay?” Kyle asked, the question come out as a whimper as he ran his hand through Stan’s raven hair. The weight of guilt rested heavily on his shoulders. He hated himself in this moment, Stan was barely breathing.

“He’s breathing, but it’s shallow,” Kenny noted. He was stopped by the sound of sirens and flashes in the distance.

Kyle didn’t stop crying for a second, not even when the EMT’s wheeled him into the back of an ambulance. He didn’t stop in the way to the hospital, even when Butters and Kenny both embraced him. All Kyle could tell himself was that it was all his fault.


	3. i want the world in my hands

When Stan felt himself waking up, his eyelids were squeezing shut before slowly opening. His vision was filled with a bright white light, and for a second, he was seriously convinced he had waken up in heaven. But after getting a better look, Stan had realized he was laying in a hospital bed. He had a killer headache that made him groan, and turned his head. **  
**

The second Stan looked over, his eyes met with someone sitting in a chair looking back at him. It was Kyle, his eyes bloodshot red from either crying or being tired. “W-Wh - “ Stan found his mouth and throat dry, and he grew uncomfortable quickly trying to speak.

“Hey, dude, it’s okay,” Kyle said softly. Stan could hear the way his voice was wavering, like he was scared. “Are you thirsty?” Stan answered with a curt nod. Kyle reached out and picked up a plastic cup of water that had a straw sticking out of it, holding it out. He waited until Stan finished sucking through the straw by laying his head back before putting it back and speaking again. “I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, reaching out and grabbing Stan’s hand.

Stan frowned, clutching Kyle’s hand and rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “What do you mean?” He questioned, this time speaking more clear, but confused. “I’m the one who fucked up. Like father like son, right?” He pointed out, cracking a small joke, and showing Kyle a small smile. “Anyways, um.. What happened? I just remember, uh, drinking..” He trailed off, wincing slightly.

Kyle blinked the tears away a few times, clearing his throat before talking. “Um, you drank a lot at the bar and when they cut you off you went and bought more. We found you in a valley, uh, choking. Kenny gave you CPR while Butters called an ambulance, but you started seizing when you got here so they had to..” He paused, using his free hand to reach up and brush the tip of his fingers against Stan’s cheek, carefully, like the other would shatter from the touch. “They had to pump your stomach. I thought, that..” Kyle stopped, tears springing back in his eyes that he tried to fight. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Stan had caught on quickly.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry, Kyle,” Stan whispered. He could hardly believe it, but all the facts were there. The intervention, the thing he ran away from, they were right. He has a problem. “I’m so, so sorry I scared you.”

“It was my fault,” Kyle spoke firmly, fully taking the blame. “You don’t have to be sorry now, Stan. I shouldn’t have threatened you like that. I’m so sorry, dude.” He spoke so seriously and genuine, Stan wanted to cry with him.

“This whole thing, um, Kyle..” Stan paused. Kyle watched, almost perking up in relief as he sucked in a breath, like he knew what was coming. “I think I need help.”

Acceptance. Kyle hadn’t known much of addiction, but he knew acceptance of the problem was an important part. He smiled, breathing a sigh of solace. “Dude, I’m so proud of you,” he said honestly, letting go of Stan’s hand to lean over the bed and pull him into a tight embrace.

Stan hesitated at first, but soon he relaxed into the hug and buried his face into Kyle’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized he was crying, tears of joy or sadness he wasn’t sure, until he felt a wetness on Kyle’s jacket. “I love you,” he stated, rubbing his hand up and down Kyle’s back. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Kyle replied, his voice muffled. He lifted his head, turning it to kiss Stan’s cheek lovingly. “I’m going to be here, alright? No matter what happens,” he promised. “You’re going to do so well, dude, you’re going to recover,” he assured Stan in a whisper. Kyle cried too, he wasn’t sure if it was from all the emotion, fear, or of how proud he was.

Kenny interrupted them then, making his arrival well known and loud. Neither expected anything less. They let their friend, who was always so positive and cheery, complain about the hospital food and played with the buttons on Stan’s hospital bed. While it lightened the mood and made them feel better from the conversation earlier, it still lingered in the back of his mind.

-x-

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Kyle asked. Stan looked over, and he could see how white Kyle’s knuckles were from clutching the steering wheel. After he was released from the hospital, his first priority was searching for a recovery therapist. Kyle suggested they wait, and look for a group later, but Stan wanted to prove how serious he was but explained he would prefer talking to one professional instead of sitting in a circle with strangers in the basement of a church.

Stan nodded, unclicking his seatbelt. Ever since he promised to stop drinking and accept the road to recovery, his withdrawals started getting the best of him. He hasn’t had a drop in nearly a week, and his hands trembled just as bad as he felt nauseous. The symptoms were only going to get worse, and Stan was going to have to learn other ways to get through it. It starts with professional help, the type of help Kyle can’t provide. “I’ll be fine,” he assured Kyle. He leaned over the seat to quickly kiss Kyle good-bye. “I’ll call you when I’m done,” he promised. Kyle nodded, and Stan opened the car door and stepped out before stepping aside and allowing the car to be driven away.

The building was small, and Stan felt awkward sitting in the waiting room after signing in. The room looked professional enough, even had the typical magazines on a table in front of him. He wasn’t sure if his leg bouncing up and down quickly was an effect of his withdrawal or from being nervous. Stan remembered that despite his father, Randy, having the same problem, he refused any types of help whether it was professional or from the people who loved him. So Stan had no idea what to expect.

“Stanley Marsh?”

Stan looked up at the sound of his full name, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. A lady with dark skin and long black hair pulled back into a tight professional bun, looked kind with her wrists crossed over her chest. She smiled when Stan stood, and motioned for him to follow her into her room for privacy.

“I’m Doctor Tyson,” she introduced after shutting the door behind them. Stan shook her hand, finding his throat dry and making it hard to speak and reply. “Please, take a seat.” He did at the same time she did, sitting on the plush couch in front of her desk chair. “This will just be a simple session as it’s our first. We’ll discuss your background, history, anything that you’re comfortable with telling me. I’ll just need something to fill in my files,” Tyson explained, taking a folder off her desk and setting it in her lap. “I understand your name is Stanley Marsh, current occupation is a university student, and you’re from South Park, Colorado?” She questioned, beginning to click her pen.

Stan nodded. “I think it’s weird you didn’t mention my addiction yet,” he finally commented, twisting his hands together. He expected every appointment to be about how he couldn’t function well without alcohol; how he was nothing but a screw up. He hadn’t expected for questions about his past.

Doctor Tyson tilted her head to the side. “Stanley, I’m here to assist you in recovering as an addict. I’m not here to judge you, and everything we say is confidential, unless in the case you plan to hurt yourself or someone else.” She leaned forward. “And your addiction is not all who you are, especially if you are able to admit the problem you have by attending these sessions.” Stan grew quiet as Tyson flipped the folder open. “I need some information for your file. Let’s start with your childhood. What was it like?”

And Stan told her. He told her he has a mom named Sharon, an older sister named Shelly, and he had a dad named Randy. He told her about how he had three best friends, one of which he is dating as of now. She laughed and nodded when Stan told her some short stories of the troubles they got into, the shenanigans they did as a team. She grew quiet and listened more when Stan opened up about Randy. He told the story of how Randy stole money from his family just to get any drink he could get his hands on, puked on the living room floor all night, and passed out. How Stan had no choice but to drag Randy’s unconscious body to bed every morning, before mopping up the puke and throwing away the empty bottles. How Stan watched, every day of his childhood, as Randy drank his life away. He finished by telling her that the only day it stopped was when he was fifteen, and a call changed everything, informing the family that Randy was in a car accident from driving while intoxicated and hadn’t made it.

Stan hadn’t realized there were tears in his eyes until Tyson passed him the tissue box on her desk. He hadn’t meant to get so into it, but after getting it off his chest, he felt a lot better than walking in. “I’m really sorry to hear that,” she spoke, giving Stan the sympathetic look he’s seen too many times. “A lot of people with an alcohol addiction have had pasts like yours,” she informed him. “Children who watched their parents, or any adult figure, drink bottle after bottle, begin doing it themselves. While it’s not common, it does happen,” she explained. Stan nodded, quiet, and she caught in that he hadn’t wanted to discuss it anymore. “Do you have a support system?” Tyson then asked. “Friends, family, who understand and want to help?”

“Yeah,” Stan answered with a nod. “Um - yesterday, I drank too much and almost died choking on my vomit ‘cause I was passed out, and uh, my friend Kenny pumped my chest until the paramedics arrived. He understands too, ‘cause his parents drank a lot. And, um, his boyfriend Butters is really nice and wants to help too,” he stammered. He didn’t bother mentioning Craig, although he didn’t doubt Tweek would be more supportive. “My mom and my sister just found out yesterday, and my mom cried on the phone.. She, uh, wants to help too and my sister called me an idiot but I know she wants it too.” He paused again, wringing his hands to try and keep them from shaking. “And, Kyle.. My boyfriend, he was really mad at me at first but now he is trying his best to support me.” At the mention of Kyle, he was able to calm down enough to even crack a smile.

Tyson smiled back, pleased that Stan was being open about it. “Usually, in situations like this, it’s just as hard on the loved ones as it is on the addict,” she replied. “If you’d ever want to bring him in sometime to talk, that’d be fine with me.”

Stan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Despite wanting the help, he was still nervous and wasn’t sure what would come of it. Meeting Doctor Tyson and having this meeting beginning changing his outlook on it, though, and he was grateful he dragged himself to do so.


	4. so let me hold both your hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies and accepting responsibilities for past mistakes is such a huge important thing.

“I want to try a new exercise,” was Doctor Tyson’s first suggestion. It has been two weeks since Stan drank. The therapy is required twice a week, and this was his third time in the room with her. The nausea has began to get better, but his hands and body still trembled sometimes. “A lot of alcoholics, they have hurt a lot of people that they care about and still carries the heavy guilt of it. Sometimes it even drives them back to the bottle,” she explained. “If you want, would you be able to make a list of the people? You could even go back and make amends.” Tyson grabbed a clipboard with blank paper on it and a pen before handing it to him. Stan hesitantly took it, and thought for a second, before scribbling quickly.

That’s how Stan found himself, back in South Park, an hour away from Denver, holding the crumpled piece of paper in his hands and staring at the first name.

1\. Cartman

Cartman would be the hardest one to talk to, so Stan wanted to get him out of the way. Not because Stan did horrible things to him, but because Cartman was a real asshole. Still, Stan didn’t doubt he hurt him. He contacted Butters, who for some reason was still good friends with him, to find out where Cartman was living now. Hesitating, and not sure if he could go through with this, Stan had to find the courage to rap his knuckles on the front door.

It had taken a minute, but the door eventually swung open. Stan was met eye to eye with Cartman, who hadn’t exactly changed since Stan left. His pinched up face and heavy fat rolls, matching his beady eyes that stared down the other. “Geez, never thought I’d see the day Stanley Marsh was at my door again,” he spoke, his voice still high pitched and annoying.

Stan tightened his grip on the piece of paper. He sucked in a breath before speaking. “I’m here to.. Make amends,” he spoke tightly. He hadn’t liked Cartman for many reasons; the way he endlessly tortured Kyle being one of them. But Doctor Tyson was right, Stan needed to make peace with who he hurt due to his alcoholism. Cartman waited, still standing in the doorway, not even bothering to let him in. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Cartman repeated, his double chin turning triple as he leaned back in bewilderment. “For what?”

“I’m sorry for high school,” Stan said, annoyed Cartman was making him say it, but knew this was the right way to have the situation be more peaceful. “I’m sorry we aren’t friends anymore.” He wanted to add that it was also Cartman’s fault, for being such a terrible person, as to why they aren’t friends anymore but remembered what he was there to do. “I’m a recovering alcoholic. I stopped talking to you, and loads of others, because alcohol became more important.” Stan knew Cartman was going to have a field day with the news Stan was an addict, but that didn’t matter. He had to get the weight off his shoulders. “And I’m sorry.”

Cartman was silent for a second. “Huh,” he finally said, blinking. “That’s good to hear.” He went to shut the door again, but Stan stepped in and quickly flattened his palm on it.

“That’s it?” Stan asked quickly, astonished. “I’m telling you I’m a recovering alcoholic and I’m sorry, yet all you have to say is that it’s good to hear?”

Cartman shrugged. “Yeah, bro. I don’t care. Is that what you needed to hear?” Cartman’s voice had never been more annoying to Stan’s ears than it was now, but he stepped back and allowed the other to shut the door in his face.

Obviously, Stan had known he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Cartman was still an asshole, but he didn’t care. The heavy guilt from the end of their friendship was taken off his shoulders, for now. Stan would still feel bad, and would miss the better times, but for the first apology in years, it went well.

2\. Tweek

3\. Craig

Stan decided to talk to them both at the same time the next day. There wasn’t a day there was apart anyways; attached to the hip since fourth grade. Stan didn’t particularly like Craig, at all actually, yet he understood why went to the intervention. He, surprising himself, wanted to not only apologize, but thank Craig.

Despite them looking very intimate in the hallways, clearly saying a parting good-bye, Stan interrupted them. He shoes squeaked loudly against the floor, making him all that more nervous to speak. He woke up early for this, knowing Tweek had early Drama class. “Hey, can I talk?” He asked hesitantly.

Craig responded with a silent scowl, annoyed. Tweek, however, was much kinder. Ever since he quit his addiction to coffee and meth, he had stopped trembling as much and grew to be more tolerable than Craig. He grabbed Craig’s hand and laced their fingers together, knowing it’d be enough affection. “Yeah, sure, man,” he replied. “Go ahead.”

Stan sucked in a breath. He decided to keep it short, simple, and straight to the point with them. It was the easiest route. “I’m sorry for being an asshole because of my drinking problem.”

Blinking once, unamused and uncaring, Craig stared at him. “Is that all?” He asked. “I’m an asshole all the time.”

Tweek rolled his eyes. Due to the height difference between him and his boyfriend, he chose to stand on his tiptoes and kiss Craig on the cheek before looking at Stan. “We get it, man. Just gt better,” he spoke, accepting the apology better than Cartman and Craig had. “I have to get to class. Bye, Craig. I love you.”

“I love you more,” Craig replied, his expression softening. He reluctantly let go of Tweek hand, and watched him wander off, before turning colder once more when Tweek was out of sight. “Later, Marsh.”

Before Craig could walk off, Stan grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he protested. He had one more thing to quickly say, and it wasn’t an apology. “Kyle told me, that on the night you guys found me, um..”

“Choking on your own vomit?” Craig finished for him, bluntly. “Nearly dying? I faintly remember.”

Stan narrowed his eyes at him. “Yeah. That. Anyways, Kyle told me that you held him back from getting too close and I appreciate it. I wouldn’t have wanted him to see me like that, close anyways, so.. Thank you.” He tried not to sound so uptight, remembering this had to be genuine if he ever wanted to move on.

“Pft,” Craig let out a puff of air, still acting tough. “Whatever.” For good measure, of showing that he didn’t care, Craig flipped Stan off before walking away.

‘That went well,’ Stan thought to himself.

4\. Wendy

Stan had wanted to put Wendy first, but she’d be one of the hardest. However, he didn’t exactly want to save her for last. He also didn’t want to do this over a Skype conversation, as this was supposed to be a face to face conversation, but had no other choice, as Wendy was a long plane ride away.

The second Wendy’s face had popped up on the screen, Stan felt his heart drop in his chest with guilt. This was the whole point of it, he had to remind himself. He was a complete dick to her, who was nothing but kind in return even when he hadn’t deserved it one bit, and it was time to apologize more sincerely than the other times he had. “Hey,” Stan finally spoke, his fingers playing with the cord of his headphones.

“Hi, Stan,” Wendy replied. Stan watched as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. “You said this was serious, and couldn’t be talked about over text?” She sounded worried, but somehow she always was when it came to him.

Just like all the other times, Stan had to just speak and rip it off like a bandaid. “I’m sorry,” he started with. “I’m sincerely sorry more than all the other times I said sorry. Um..” He cleared his throat. “For awhile now, I’ve had a drinking problem.” He heard Wendy suck in a sharp breath. “I started to accept it now, and I want to heal and get better. That long road starts with apologizing to the people I’ve hurt and accepting responsibility. So that’s why.. I needed to talk to you, face to face, as best I could,” he explained.

“I’m sorry I was awful to you in high school,” Stan chose to start with. “Although my problem wasn’t big then, it was starting. “I ditched you to party with my friends, and I..” He paused. “I cheated on you with Kyle when I was drunk.” He paused, watching Wendy nod. He told her this, and she had broken up with him over it, but it was still hard to face. “I’m sorry I was so terrible to you.”

“I know you are, Stan,” Wendy replied. “It was high school. We’re friends now, it’s okay,” she tried to assure him. Her voice cracked through Stan’s headphones, and he wasn’t sure if Skype was ruining the quality of their call or she was about to cry.

“No, it’s not okay,” Stan argued. “I’m so sorry for what I did. It wasn’t okay, and I’m always going to feel guilty for it, but I want to get better.”

“I’ll be here for you,” Wendy spoke, answering the question Stan didn’t know he had. “You’re still my best friend. I’m so proud of you, Stan, and I accept your apology.”

Stan breathed a sigh of relief. It went better than he had expected, even though Wendy and him were still good friends and she’s heard similar apologies in the past. “Thank you,” he said. Instead of the heavy feeling of guilt, a much warmer feeling of relief spread through him. “I’ll talk to you later?”

Wendy smiled, wide, before fondly rolling her eyes. “Yeah, of course. Later, loser.” She didn’t have to say it. Stan knew she was kind enough to forgive him, despite the terrible things he did, and was willing to be there.

5\. Butters

6\. Kenny

7\. Mom & Shelly

The next three were easy. They had all went the same way. Stan sat with Butters and Kenny, and as they already knew the current state of the situation, Stan stuck with the sincere apology for what he’s done. Butters cried, which was no surprise. When he talked to his family, after talking with Cartman, his mom was the one to cry. Shelly had punched him in the shoulder, her sign of a hug. Stan was soon back to the apartment, at night, where Kyle was waiting for him.

“How’d it go?” Was Kyle’s first question when Stan walked in and was shrugging off his jacket. It was around dinner time, but Stan didn’t feel hungry. He was more nervous than anything.

“It all went alright,” Stan said honestly. He didn’t bring up Cartman, deciding it didn’t really matter. Even if it didn’t end well, Stan still felt better from it. “I just have one last person to talk to.” Stan took the crumpled list out of his pocket and looked at it.

8\. Kyle

“Really? Who?” Kyle asked, now more interested and looking up, closing his text book and setting it aside.

“You.”

Taken back by the words, Kyle nearly froze in place. “Me?” He repeated. “Stan, you don’t have to apologize to me,” he tried to tell him. “I understand. I do.”

Stan shook his head, refusing to accept that. “No, I do,” he argued. He sat next to Kyle on the bed, pushing aside the textbook. “Next to Wendy, I was the absolute worst to you,” he stated. “I used our rent money to buy more drinks, I expected you to clean up after me when I threw up, to make sure I got home safe and tuck me in as if I was a child. It wasn’t fair to you,” he spoke honestly, feeling his throat closing up and tears springing in his eyes.

As tough as it was to admit, Stan knew deep in his heart that he wanted a drink now. He was scared and wanted to run to the nearest bar. His hands shaking showed a physical sign of it, but he tried his best to hide them out of Kyle’s view. This was about Kyle, not Stan.

“I’m so sorry for earning the worst boyfriend award,” Stan said, trying to crack a joke and smile lightly. “I mean it, Kyle,” he spoke quicker, noticing Kyle was still. He was almost stiff, but staring at Stan still. “You suffered, you were scared, and it wasn’t fair. I love you so, so much. I can’t express it enough. I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

Kyle was still silent and frozen stiff in place. But Stan still saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. Stan took his trembling hands back out of his pockets before grabbing Kyle’s tightly. It made Kyle snap out of it, and react. “I forgive you,” he said, softly. Stan can’t remember a time when Kyle was so soft and quiet; he was always hard and loud. Kyle never was shocked, or silent. “I love you too.”

Stan didn’t hesitate in lurching forward and catching Kyle in a kiss. Their hands were clenched together tightly between them, and somehow, Stan was able to find himself calm enough to stop them from trembling.

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to say i’ve never dealt with alcoholism (however, i’ve had people close to me with different addictions) and i did a lot of research online to write this. just so you know, alcoholism is different for everyone so how i am portraying stan’s can be different to anyone else’s. if you or someone you know struggles with alcoholism, i strongly urge you to accept the road to recovery and get the help you deserve. call a hotline, see a professional, go to rehab, whatever measures is necessary for you or your loved ones. recovery is possible.


End file.
